The Shelters of Stone

by Jean M. Auel

  The ones who had come to repair the trap had also set up a portable fencing of panels that funneled the animals driven into the valley toward an opening in the surround. Usually hunters had time enough to establish a cadre of people to stand behind the panels to harass any animals that attempted to bolt away back toward the trap. Since this was a rather unplanned, spontaneous hunt, no one was there yet. But Ayla did notice that some scraps of leather and cloth, pieces of woven belts, and grass wands, long bunches of grass fastened to sticks, were tucked into the frames of the panels or held down with stones.

  “Jondalar,” she called to him. He rode up to her. She had picked up a grass wand and a piece of leather. “Anything that flutters or moves in an unexpected way tends to spook bison, especially when they’re running, at least that’s what happened when we were driving bison toward the Lion Camp’s surround. These must be used to shake at animals heading toward the surround, to keep them from breaking away. Do you think anybody would object if we borrowed a few? They could be useful when we’re trying to drive the herd this way.”

  “You’re right. That is what they’re for,” Jondalar said, “and I’m sure no one would mind if we borrow some if it will help us get those bison here.”

  They left the valley and headed toward the place where they had last seen the herd. The trail trampled by the slowly moving animals was easy to find, and they were a little closer to the valley than they were earlier. There were about fifty bison in all, males, females, and young. They were starting to come together to form the huge migratory herd that would develop later in the season.

  At certain times of the year, bison congregated in such huge numbers, it was like watching a sinuously moving river of dark brown spiked with large black horns. At other times, they broke up into smaller groupings, sometimes not much more than an extended family, but they preferred to form herds of some size. On the whole there was safety in numbers. While predators, especially cave lions and packs of wolves, often brought down a bison from a herd, it was usually one that was slow or weak, which allowed the healthy and strong to survive.

  They approached the herd slowly, but the bison hardly noticed them. Horses were not animals that posed a threat, though they did give Wolf a wider berth. They were aware of him, but didn’t panic; they merely avoided him, sensing that a single wolf could not take down an animal the size of a bison. Male bison were typically six feet six inches at the top of the hump on their shoulders and weighed a ton. They had long black horns and a beard that jutted forward from heavy jaws. Females were smaller, but both were quick and agile, able to climb steep slopes and leap over substantial obstacles.

  They could gallop, tail up and head down, in long strides across even rocky landscapes. Bison didn’t mind water and could swim well, drying off their thick fur by rolling in the sand or dirt. They tended to graze in the evening and relaxed to chew their cud during the day. Their hearing and sense of smell were acute. Full-grown bison could be violent and aggressive, and were difficult to kill with teeth and claws or with spears, but one bison provided fifteen hundred pounds of meat, plus fat, bones, skin, hair, and horns. Bison were proud and noble animals, respected by those who hunted them and admired for their strength and courage.

  “What do you think would be the best way to get them started?” Jondalar said. “Usually the hunters let them go at their own pace, and try to guide them slowly toward the surround, at least until they get close.”

  “When we hunted on our Journey here, we usually tried to get an animal to bolt away from the herd. This rime we want them all to keep going in the same direction, toward that valley,” Ayla said. “I think riding up behind them and shouting would get them going, but if we wave these things at them, I think it would be a help, especially for the bison that tries to dash away. We don’t want them stampeding in the wrong direction. Wolf always liked to chase them, too, and he got good at keeping them together.”

  She looked up at the sun and tried to estimate when they might arrive at the surround, and wondered how close the hunters were. Well, the important thing is to get them moving toward the trap, she thought.

  They moved around to the side opposite the direction they wanted to start them going, then, looking at each other, they nodded and, with a loud yell, urged the horses toward the herd. Ayla was holding a grass wand in one hand and the scrap of leather in the other, both hands free because she didn’t use a halter or a rein to direct Whinney.

  It had been an entirely spontaneous gesture the first rime she got on the back of the horse, and she made no attempt to guide her. She simply clung to the horse’s mane and let the animal run. She felt a sense of freedom and excitement as though she were flying like the wind. The horse slowed and headed back to the valley on her own. It was the only home she knew. Afterward, Ayla couldn’t stop riding, but in the beginning the training was unconscious. Only later did she realize that she had been using the pressure and movement of her body to signal her intent.

  The first time Ayla hunted large game, by herself, after she left the Clan, she drove the herd of horses that used the valley she had found toward a pit-trap she had dug. She didn’t know the horse that happened to fall into her trap was a nursing mother until she noticed some hyenas stalking the foal. She used her sling to drive the ugly creatures away, rescuing the young horse more because she hated hyenas than because she wanted to save the animal, but once she had saved it, she felt obliged to care for it. She had learned years before that a baby could eat what its mother ate, if it was softened, and cooked a broth of grains to feed the young filly.

  Ayla soon came to realize that in saving the horse, she had done herself a favor. She was alone in the valley and became grateful for the company of a living being to share her lonely Ufe. It wasn’t her intention to tame the horse and she never thought of it in those terms. She looked upon the horse as her friend. Later, she became a friend who allowed the woman to ride on her back and who went where Ayla wanted her to go because she chose to.

  Whinney left to live with a herd for a while, when she came into her first season, but came back to Ayla after the herd stallion died. Her foal was born not long after the woman found the wounded man, who turned out to be Jondalar. The young colt became his to name and train, finding his own means. He invented the halter to help him direct and control the young stallion. Ayla found the device useful to use on Whinney when she needed to keep her restrained to a specific area, and Jondalar used one if he needed to lead Whinney. He seldom tried to ride the mare since he didn’t fully understand the signals Ayla used to guide her, and the horse didn’t understand his. Ayla had a similar problem with Racer.

  Ayla glanced at Jondalar, who was dashing after a bison, guiding Racer with ease, shaking a grass wand in the face of a young bull to get him stampeding along with the others. She saw a frightened cow veer off and started after her, but Wolf got there first and drove her back. She smiled at the wolf; he was having a wonderful time chasing the bison. They had all—the woman, the man, the two horses, and the wolf— learned to work together, and hunt together, on their yearlong Journey following the Great Mother River in their passage across the plains from the east.

  As they neared the narrow valley, Ayla noticed a man standing off to the side, waving at her, and breathed a sigh of relief. The hunters had arrived. They would keep the bison heading in the right direction once they were stampeded into the valley, but a couple of bison at the head of the herd were trying to swerve away. She leaned forward, an all but unconscious signal to Whinney to go faster. As though she knew what was in the woman’s mind, the mare raced to cut off the bison reluctant to enter the narrower way. Ayla yelled as Whinney neared, shaking the grass wand and napping the piece of leather in the canny old cow’s face, and managed to turn her back. The rest of the bison followed.

  The two people on horses and the wolf kept the bison stampeding together and heading in the same direction, but the valley narrowed as they approached the restricted opening of the surround,
which slowed them down as they crowded each other. Ayla noticed a bull trying to bolt to get away from the press behind them.

  A hunter stepped out from behind a panel and attempted to stop him with a spear. The weapon found its mark, but it wasn’t a mortal wound and the momentum kept the bison going. The hunter jumped back and tried to get out of the way by ducking back behind the panel, but it was a flimsy barrier against the mighty bull. Enraged by the pain of the wound, the huge shaggy animal ignored the panel and knocked it aside. The man fell with it, and in the confusion, the bison trampled him.

  Ayla, watching in horror, had her spear-thrower out and was reaching for a spear when she saw one thud into the bison. She threw her spear also, then urged Whinney forward, disregarding the danger of the other stampeding animals, and jumped off the horse’s back even before she stopped. She pulled the panel out of the way and knelt beside the man who was lying on the ground not far from the fallen bison. She heard him moan. He was alive.

  13

  Whinney was prancing nervously, sweating heavily, as the rest of the bison swept by and into the surround. When the woman reached for her medicine bag from one of the carrier baskets, she stroked the horse for a moment to comfort her, but her mind was already focused on the man and what she might be able to do for him. She wasn’t even aware when the gate to the surround was closed, trapping the bison inside, or when some of the hunters began to methodically dispatch the ones they wanted.

  The wolf had enjoyed chasing the animals, but even before the gate was closed he had suddenly stopped running after them and begun searching for Ayla. He found her kneeling beside the wounded man. Some people began to form a circle around her and the man on the ground, but with the wolf there, they kept their distance. Ayla was oblivious to the people watching her as she began to examine him. He was unconscious, but she could feel a slight beating in his neck, under his jaw. She opened his clothing.

  There was no blood, but a large blue-black smudge was already forming on his chest and abdomen. Carefully, she felt his chest and stomach around the darkening bruise. She pressed in once. He flinched and made a cry of pain, but did not wake up. She listened to his breathing and heard a soft gurgling, then noted that blood dribbled from the side of his mouth and knew he was injured internally.

  She looked up and saw Jondalar’s piercing blue eyes and his familiar frown of concern, and then a second, nearly identical frown, with a questioning look. She shook her head at Joharran.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “That bison stepped on him.” She looked down at the dead animal beside him. “His ribs are broken. They are piercing his lungs and I don’t know what else. He is bleeding inside. I’m afraid nothing can be done. If he has a mate, someone should send for her. I’m afraid he will walk the world of the spirits before morning.”

  “Nooooo!” came a cry from the crowd. A young man pushed his way forward and threw himself down beside the man. “It’s not true! It can’t be true! How does she know? Only a Zelandoni knows. She’s not even one of us!”

  “It’s his brother,” Joharran said.

  The young man tried to hug the man on the ground, then turned the wounded man’s head to try to make his brother look at him. “Wake up, Shevonar! Please wake up,” the young man wailed.

  “Come on, Ranokol. You’re not helping him.” The leader of the Ninth Cave tried to help the young man up, but was fought off and pushed away.

  “It’s all right, Joharran. Let him stay. A brother has a right to say farewell,” Ayla said, then, noticing the man starting to stir, she added, “A brother might cause him to wake up, though, and he will be in pain.”

  “Don’t you have some willow bark or something for pain in your medicine bag, Ayla?” Jondalar said. He knew she was never without a few basic medicinal herbs. Hunting always posed some danger, and she would have anticipated that.

  “Yes, of course, but I don’t think he should have anything to drink. Not with such severe injuries inside.” She paused, then said, “But, maybe a poultice would help him. I could try it. First, we need to get him to someplace comfortable, and we’ll need wood for a fire, and water to boil. Does he have a mate, Joharran?” she asked again. The man nodded. “Then someone should go for her, and for Zelandoni, too.”

  “Of course,” Joharran said, suddenly aware of her strange accent, though he had all but forgotten it until then.

  Manvelar stepped in. “Let’s get some people looking for a place to take this man, where he can be comfortable, away from this hunting field.”

  “Isn’t there a small cave in that cliff over there?” Thefona said.

  “There’s bound to be one somewhere nearby,” Kimeran said.

  “You’re right,” Manvelar said. “Thefona, why don’t you get some people and go look for a place to take him.”

  “We’ll go with her,” Kimeran said, and called over the people from the Second and Seventh Caves who had joined the hunt.

  “Brameval, perhaps you could organize a few people to get wood and water. And we’ll have to make something to carry him. Some people brought sleeping rolls, we’ll get some for him, and whatever else he needs,” Manvelar continued, then he called out to the hunters, “We need a good runner, to take a message back to Two Rivers Rock.”

  “Let me go,” Jondalar said. “I can take the message, and Racer is the best ‘runner’ here.”

  “I think you’re right about that.”

  “Then maybe you could go on to Ninth Cave to get Relona here, and Zelandoni, too,” Joharran said. “Tell Proleva what happened. She’ll know how to get everything organized. Zelandoni should be the one to tell Shevonar’s mate. She may want you to explain to Relona what happened, but leave it up to her.”

  Joharran turned to face the hunters that were still standing around the wounded man, most of them from the Ninth Cave. “Rushemar, the sun is high and getting hotter. We have paid dearly for this day’s kill, let’s not waste it. The bison need to be gutted and skinned. Kareja and the Eleventh Cave have started, but I’m sure she could use some help. Solaban, maybe you could take a few people and help Brameval get wood and water, and whatever else Ayla needs, and when Kimeran and Thefona find a place, you can help move Shevonar.”

  “Someone should go to the other Caves and let them know we need help,” Brameval said.

  “Jondalar, can you stop on your way back and let them know what happened?” Joharran asked.

  “When you get to Two Rivers Rock, tell them to light the signal fire,” Manvelar said.

  “Good idea,” Joharran said. “Then the Caves will know something is wrong and will be expecting a messenger.” He went to the woman, the foreigner, who would likely be a member of his Cave one day, and probably a Zelandoni, and was already contributing every way she could. “Do what you can for him, Ayla. We’ll get his mate and Zelandoni here as soon as we can. If there is anything you need, ask Solaban. He will get it for you.”

  “Thank you, Joharran,” she said, then turned to Jondalar. “If you tell her what happened, I’m sure Zelandoni will know what to bring, but let me check my bag. There are a couple of herbs I’d like if she has them. And take Whinney with you. Then you can use the pole drag to bring things here, she’s more used to it than Racer. Zelandoni could even ride here on it, and Shevonar’s mate on Whinney’s back, if they’re willing.”

  “I don’t know, Ayla. Zelandoni’s pretty heavy,” Jondalar said.

  “I’m sure Whinney can handle it. You just have to come up with a comfortable seat.” Then she looked at Jondalar with a wry expression. “But you’re right, most people aren’t used to using horses for traveling. I’m sure the women would rather walk, but they will need tents and supplies. The pole drag will be good for that.”

  Ayla removed the carrying baskets before she put the halter on Whinney and gave the rope attached to it to Jondalar. He fastened the other end of it to the back of Racer’s halter with enough lead so she could follow, and started out. But the mare was not accustomed to trailing
behind the stallion she had borne. He had always followed her. Even though Jondalar was sitting on Racer’s back, guiding him with a rein attached to his halter, Whinney stayed slightly ahead of them, yet she seemed to sense which way the man wanted to go.

  Horses were willing to do the bidding of their human friends, Ayla thought, smiling to herself as she watched them leave, so long as it didn’t upset their own sense of the proper order of things. She saw Wolf was observing her when she turned around. She had signaled him to stay when the horses left, now he was waiting patiently.

  Her ironic inner smile at the behavior of the horses was quickly dispelled when she looked at the man lying where he fell. “He’ll need to be carried, Joharran,” she said.

  The leader nodded, then called on some people to help. They improvised a carrying device by first binding together a couple of spears to make a sturdy pole, then fastening pieces of clothing across two of them. By the time Thefona and Kimeran returned with news of a small shelter nearby, the man had been carefully moved to the stretcher and was ready to be carried. Ayla called Wolf to her as four men each lifted one end of a pole.

  When they arrived, Ayla helped several people who had begun cleaning out the hollowed-out space at ground level in the nearby limestone wall, protected by a small overhanging ledge. The dirt floor was littered with dried leaves and debris blown in by the wind, and dried hyena droppings left sometime before by the scavenging carnivores who had used the place for a lair.

  Ayla was pleased to find that water was close by. There was a smaller cave at the back of the sheltered depression and just inside it was a spring-fed pool of fresh water that ran off in a ditch that had formed along the cliff wall. She told Solaban where to set up a fireplace with the wood he and Brameval, and a few others, had brought.